


With Empty Hands

by GoddessofBirth



Series: Tag You're It [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Derek is in over his head, Friendship, M/M, Pre-Slash, Stiles is too caring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-04
Updated: 2012-06-04
Packaged: 2017-11-06 19:16:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/422262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoddessofBirth/pseuds/GoddessofBirth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek's in over his head, but where does an Alpha go for help?  Tag to episode 2 x 01</p>
            </blockquote>





	With Empty Hands

The night they find Lydia, Derek Hale crawls through Stiles' window. Stiles is busy doing what he does best, researching at his computer, and he whirls around when he hears the tell tale creak, watches as Derek walks over to the chair by his dresser, and sits. There's something heavy on his shoulders. He looks...weary, and tired. Stiles waits for him to speak, to reveal why he's violated Stiles' private space _yet again_ , and what miracle he wants the teen to pull from his ass now.

 

Stiles waits.

 

And he waits.

 

And he waits. Derek just blinks steadily, staring in Stiles' direction, although Stiles isn't quite sure if he's looking at him, or having an intimate tete-a-tete with the poster behind him.

 

'Okay, dude - ' Stiles breaks the silence, because silence? So not his friend. Ever. 'Seriously, you have a phone, why don't you - '

 

'I gave Jackson the bite.'

 

Stiles vaults from his chair without realizing it, trips over the legs and lands on the floor. He's standing again in the next second, though. Never let it be said he doesn't have good recovery time. 'What the hell? In what world did you think Jackson Whitt - '

 

'He asked.' Derek mouths the words firmly, pushing them out hard, but Stiles isn't sure it's him he's trying to convince. 'I didn't force him. I need pack, Stiles. I need to be strong.'

 

'Okay,' Stiles says slowly. 'But, you know you can't just change anyone who asks, right? Because...because there are lots of people who would be bad,  _bad_ werewolves. Like freakin' Jackson for one!'

 

'You would be a good werewolf.'

 

'Ahh...' Stiles measures the distance between himself and the door, even though he figures Derek could still probably beat him there. 'If that's what this little visit is about? Yeah, the answer's no. Just like it was no when Peter asked. So, yeah...you can go build your pack somewhere else, thanks.'

 

Derek raises an eyebrow. 'My uncle offered?'

 

Stiles nods jerkily, swallowing hard.

 

'He had good instincts.' Derek runs a hand through his hair, the gesture removing the veil of age that taking on the role of Alpha had given him, revealing a level of uncertainty Stiles has only seen once, maybe twice, on the older man's face. 'I'm...not sure I do.'

 

'Okay, first? Peter didn't have good instincts. He was freaking insane, just like Kate was freaking insane. That was just one big duo of crazy, and no offense, but I'm kind of glad they canceled each other out. Second –' He skitters across the room and gingerly sits on the edge of the bed, still far enough away from Derek that he can pretend he would have a chance to outrun him.

 

'— why are you here? Really?'

 

Derek swallows and turns his head to one side, and then the other, cracking his neck, before nodding to himself and looking back at Stiles.

 

'I bit Jackson, but something's wrong. He's sick...he's rejecting the bite and he thinks I can fix it, but I can't. Because I don't know. I offered the bite to someone else, and I think he'll say yes. And even knowing what's happening with Jackson, I'm going to give it to him. Because  _I need pack_ . The Argents killed another wolf tonight. One with no pack and no crime, and they're putting aside the code. It's war now. I'm supposed to know what to do, because I'm the Alpha, and these kids think I can teach them, tell them. And I can't.  _Because I have no idea what I'm doing._ '

 

He cuts off abruptly, while Stiles' mouth hangs open just a little wider than usual at the outburst. Derek doesn't look scary, or intimidating, or any of the many things he's projected in the short time Stiles has known him. Instead, he looks wildly lost, a little like Stiles' father did when he came to tell him Stiles' mother had died, and young enough that Stiles' can almost forget the five or so years between them.

 

Derek mutters again, 'I don't know what to do.'

 

Stiles snaps his mouth closed before opening it again. 'Okay. Okay, I get that. But, again...my window? My room?'

 

'You...helped me before.' The words drag out of Derek like they're physically painful for him to say. 'There aren't many people...that will help...without me giving them something they want. I don't...I don't have anything to give you, except the bite. And you don't want that.' Then he adds as an afterthought. 'You would be good pack, though.'

 

'Oh,' Stiles says, and then, 'Oh,' again, because it's sad, even if it makes sense. And that part of him that's always taken in strays and bought cookies from kids with lemonade stands, and is probably largely responsible for all the times he's helped Derek when he should have just said no, opens up just a little bit more. One of these days his inability to be a douchebag is going to get him killed, especially in light of the new company he's keeping.

 

He pushes himself up from the bed and walks back over to his computer, gesturing for Derek to follow him. 'So, wanna tell me exactly what Jackson's symptoms look like? And the Argents did  _what_ ?'


End file.
